


We Never Left

by markipwiwer



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Hallucinations, M/M, Multi, Sleep Walking, This was rough, WKM, padded cell, sedatives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markipwiwer/pseuds/markipwiwer
Summary: It’s the big one, lads! A culmination of many things, different things in different fics leading up to now.It’s not as long or as impressive as I wanted it to be but it’s done, at the very least.Wilford finally understands what happened at the manor.





	We Never Left

Wilford had been talking about Celine and Damien a lot more recently, and Dark was... pleased.

Or at the very least, hopeful that he’d be able to explain everything in a way that wouldn’t involve Wilford absolutely hating him and going on some sort of rampage.

And they were happy together. If nothing else, Dark was a little on edge, but Antis casual demeanour towards everything also made Dark feel like maybe it wasn’t such a huge thing after all. Maybe it wasn’t necessary for him to be freaking out as much as he was. But it was tough to gauge these sorts of things.

There had been the occasional... slip up, so to speak. Like when Wilford had been sleep walking again and had accidentally summoned Damien’s cane and Dark struggled to explain it. He struggled even more to explain why he knew and freaked out about it in the first place.

Wilford held onto it all day. It was difficult to watch.

Luckily, Anti had the sensibility to not ask the significance. Anti had learned the look that Wilford sometimes got in his eye, and he learned not to question things then.

The most recent difficulty though, had been when Dark had shifted forms again, to his more femme form. It was comfortable sometimes, and he liked it, and Wilford especially liked it.

Except this time, Wilford had gotten up in the night again. Dark had heard him calling through the halls.

It sounded weak and pitiful and Dark was honestly surprised Wilford hadn’t woken himself up yet.

So she got up (it had been she, that day) and went to him, like she often did. And he was calling out.

“Celine? Please come out. I don’t like this game any more. It was fun while it lasted but -“

Dark put her hands on Wilfords shoulders.

“It’s alright, Wil. I’m right here.”

Wilford woke up.

And Darks heart sunk.

Wilford was smiling, and had tears running down his eyes, and he immediately put his gun away to pull her into a hug.

“Oh, my dear Celine, I can’t express how much I’ve missed you. You really had me, there.”

Dark pulled back, as much as it was physically and emotionally tearing him up to do so. 

“No, Wil. I’m Dark. Celine isn’t...”

How the hell did she actually explain this? Dark was using HER form, which probably wasn’t helping, and she suddenly felt like her skin was crawling. It was awful. She wanted to get out of it. She wanted to go back. Because the way he looked at her, it was so sad and so sickly and she suddenly just didn’t want to be this.

And it must have happened because Wilford looked back in what could only be described as sad, dull fear.

“Why... did you look like her?”

Dark felt no more comfortable in his own skin when Wilford was questioning things like this but he supposed right now it didn’t matter what he preferred.

Because that was a good question - why did he look like her sometimes? Dark could go with the simplest answer; “because her form is easy to take and sometimes I like wearing a more feminine form”. But that was the cop out answer. It didn’t explain what he was really asking.

Dark didn’t expect him to continue on, however.

“And why do you look like him now?”

Wilfords tone was turning grim, as if Dark was hiding something sinister. Which, in all fairness to Wilford, wasn’t entirely untrue.

He could feel pieces of soul screaming out, wanting to help, wanting to love him, wanting to show him it was okay -

Wilford stepped a little closer, just to make sure Dark wasn’t trying to play any little tricks on him, and Dark found himself petrified with fear. Fear of what specifically? He wasn’t entirely sure. But he’d avoided this conversation for years, and they were about to have it in the middle of the night, in an empty living room, potentially for other Egos to see... it was just not good.

“Are you hiding them from me?

Dark usually had his words together. Usually he was fine under stressful situations.

“No, no I’m not! Wil, I promise, I’m not hiding them, they just never left, it’s difficult to explain -“

And as Dark attempted to explain, his shell cracked. And usually, the red and blue that looked like him, that only differed slightly in his reactions, they were standing right next to him. They shared that same panicked look, trying to explain, hoping to make Wilford understand.

Wilford, his eyes glazed over in the darkness of the house - their house, the Ego house, not a house of any significance but the one they’d been able to make a home in - grabbed Dark by the scruff of his shirt and pushed him back against a wall, rather violently. Dark could already feel the indentation of his body in the plaster.

“Don’t horse shit me, Dark. I’ve been waiting for over fifty years -“

“I know! I know, and I’m sorry, I’m been terrified of telling you, I didn’t want you to be upset, I didn’t want... I didn’t want this. But they never left. We never left.”

Dark was shaking. When had that started? Was he... afraid of Wilford? Was he afraid of what his friend, his lover, was capable of?

Wilford grabbed him by the scruff again and slammed him, harder, back into the wall. Dark heard some cracking felt something pierce his skin - something sharp, although it didn’t particularly matter right now.

Part of Dark, probably the Entity part, the demon part, the inhuman part that he hated so thickly, wanted to push back. Wanted to fight. Wanted to, at the very least, not be impaled on plasterboard or piping or whatever the hell.

But Dark stood there and he took it, and Wilford screamed in his face.

“WHERE ARE MY FRIENDS?”

Dark felt himself getting slammed back against the wall, and this time he went through it. He was sure some part of him, maybe the low of his back, and an elbow was sticking right through. And whatever had been piercing him before had torn right through flesh properly now - more specifically, there was a huge gash in his upper leg. He tried to talk but no sound came out. It was difficult to see. He almost, distantly, heard the sound of his own ‘blood’ dripping on the floor.

His mouth moved for him, and the voices that came from it were distant. He could almost feel himself being ripped apart from the inside out.

His voice wasn’t his. It was theirs.

“We never left, Wil. We’re sorry.”

-

The way Anti explained it later, was that Wil had said he merely shot at his hallucinations when they were bothering him too much. It happened in his dreams an awful lot, and what had happened with Dark seemed so far from the truth, so far from any possibility that it couldn’t be real.

Anti had tackled Wilford to the ground when he found him pointing his revolver at Dark. Dark was passed out, basically sitting in the wall, and there were figures, next to him, bleeding through the wall as well, pleading with Wilford.

A man and a woman, Anti said. He didn’t ask any more questions about them, since it probably wasn’t the time. But it was never really the time, and it was always the time.

Dark and Anti sat, talking in the doctors office while Iplier patched Dark up. A bullet wound in the shoulder and a thick gash in the leg. Iplier said if he were any other man, that gash would have been fatal since it would have cut a major vein. But Darks blood was less important to his survival than most.

It was easier telling Anti. Telling Anti about who he used to be, who Mark was, who Wilford was. It was weirdly easy letting Iplier overhear it too. Although maybe that wasn’t so strange. Doctor/patient confidentiality and all that, but at the same time, The Host knew. So the doctor likely knew something.

Anti seemed rather awed when he said that the Damien and Celine Wilford kept referring to, well... those were the figures that had been pleading with him.

Anti said the fight had been rough, because Wilford was... ridiculously strong. That didn’t surprise Dark. Anti had a few nicks here and there, nothing too major, but he’d transported Wilford to a... spare padded cell Dr Schneeplestein happened to own. 

Dark felt incredibly guilty with Wilford being left there. But Wilford and Schneep had some sort of history, and he was having both Anti and Oliver monitor the camera feeds in the cell.

He was on a pretty heavy dose of sedatives, and Anti didn’t want to question why Schneep knew that would would work.

But it kept him there. It kept him safe, and that was unfortunately the biggest thing they could prioritise right now.

But Dark refused to put it off - he needed to confront Wilford about everything.

Anti had said he’d watch on from outside, but he was gonna just let Wilford and Dark talk this one out.

And when Dark walked into the cell, Wilford... looked like shit. He looked tired and beaten down and sad. He knew for a fact Schneep hadn’t done anything. This was just Wilford in his natural state. When he couldn’t block anything out. When he remembered.

He was sobbing in the corner. Silently. Dark walked over and kneeled down, unsure of whether he’d be wanted here. If he’d be a comfort or a hinderance.

Wilford looked up, vaguely acknowledging Darks presence in the cell.

He seemed to stutter for a moment, really pause and think hard on what he wanted to say.

Eventually, something came out. His voice sounded so broken, and his words were... Dark could have honestly burst into tears right then and there.

“Where’s Mark?”

Dark decided to be honest.

“We don’t know exactly. We’ve been looking for years.”

Wilford sounded so pitiful.

“I didn’t kill him?”

“He’d been dead long before that. He had powers. Like you and me.”

Dark was aware he sounded like he was explaining this to a child. But Wilford was incredibly fragile as it was.

“No one died entirely by your hand. He set you up. It wasn’t... it wasn’t your fault.”

Wilford took pause. A lifetimes worth of pause. And began to weep, because the friends he knew weren’t coming back. They were there, sort of, technically speaking, but they were broken, tiny fragments of what they used to be.

Just like Wilford.

He found his words through sobs.

“I’m sorry.”

Dark was genuinely taken aback by this.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I could have really hurt you. And even if they’re not coming back, even if they’re not all there... I still don’t want to hurt you. I still love you.”

Wilford didn’t look at Dark as he spoke and Dark was grateful, almost, because he felt... tears running down his cheeks. It was such a strange feeling, such a foreign feeling. In the back of Darks mind, somewhere, he was disgusted with himself for being so vulnerable.

But fuck that.

He almost lost Wilford. And here Wilford was, still accepting him for what he was.

Before he could really thing about the next course of action, Wilford was pulling Dark into a desperate aggressive hug, and crying into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I hurt you and I’m so sorry...”

“It’s okay, Wil. We’re okay now.”

And that was the truth. They were okay now. Even though Wilford cried and cried until there were no more tears to shed, like Wilford was far too dehydrated to possibly cry any more, things were silent. Wilford was leaning on Darks shoulder, the one that didn’t have a bullet hole in it.

“Hey, Darkling?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad this joke is over now. It wasn’t really funny any more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Have you got an idea or a request for a fic? Come shoot me a message at markipwiwer.tumblr.com!
> 
> If you like what I do, please consider supporting me at www.ko-fi.com/markipwiwer!


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